


Primary Colours

by Hope



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-04
Updated: 2002-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/2558.html</p></blockquote>





	Primary Colours

Green. A fresh coat of paint on Bag End's circular door, the rough, familiar texture of the wood accentuated rather than hidden by it. Reflecting the verdant growth of the garden surrounding it, cradling it.

Gold. The glint of Sam's sweat-damp hair, threaded with sunlight, pushed back from his forehead with an easy, open smile before turning back to his tender ministrations in the soil.

Red. The crisp crunch of harvest apples, skin burnished on a worn velvet coat sleeve, juice dripping down chins, sticky with laughter. Sliding down out of the tree and into the dusk, walking home arm-in-arm with full bellies.

Blue. Frodo's eyes reflecting the delicate moments of twilight, the emergence of stars not bright enough to combat with this new blossoming somewhere below Sam's ribs.

White. Snow blanketing the outside world when Sam shrugs on his coat, scarf, gloves, and opens the door to leave. Frodo's voice warm and bright behind him: "You're not going home in this. Stay here tonight."

Black. Heated darkness, thick and palpable with sighs, sensations, smells. The shadows cast by Frodo's lowered lashes as he arches up, mouth open on a cry Sam can almost _see_ . . .

*

 

Green. Waking up suddenly at Frodo's soft cry to find the luminous, too-large globes too close. Gollum's skeletal hand on Frodo's knee. "Hey you! What are you up to!"

Gold. Strung on a strand of silver about Frodo's neck, hanging below Frodo's drawn, haggard face. Sam almost fancies he can see the swollen shine of it through the tight flesh of Frodo's clenched fist.

Red. Frodo's blood, unbelievably vivid on his pale, grimy skin, filling Sam's hands, which are cupped around his master's. Staining his lips and face as he kisses them and draws what's left of his Frodo closer to his breast.

Blue. The depths of the ocean, closer to the horizon than the grey torment of waves on the shore. Seeming to caress the bright vessel that glides through it so easily.

White. Galadriel's phial, glimmering and disappearing; the last glimpse of its light burning into Sam's heart even as it once burned into his palm, fuelled by his love and despair.

Black.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/2558.html


End file.
